


Impietas

by vostara



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25697170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vostara/pseuds/vostara
Summary: [VAMPIRE AU] From the moment she was born, Marianne Braxton, née Winchester, has been coerced into giving the Templar Order her unwavering loyalty. After years of witnessing the horrors performed in the name of the Order, she questions the purpose of such an organization. But dismantling the Order is a task that can’t be accomplished alone.pairing: Jacob Frye x Original Female Character (Marianne)[very slow updates due to graduate school obligations]
Relationships: Jacob Frye/Original Character(s), Jacob Frye/Original Female Character(s), Jacob Frye/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Impietas

**Author's Note:**

> “One’s given name is hardly a confirmation of character.”

_London, 1867_

The confession tumbles out of his lips. And though Marianne knows that he stands by his words, she does not miss the waver in his voice. He is unsure, but desperate to reveal this truth. Almost eager to open the pages of a once concealed book; to point at the one sentence that unlocks the key to understanding its meaning.

“I love you,” he says.

A silence follows this revelation.

But it is a truth that Marianne has known for quite some time. For she has already witnessed his lingering gazes, has already felt the way he shudders when her skin makes contact with his own. And yet, she is not ready for this verbal confirmation of her suspicions.

Her hands press against her plum colored dress. And out of reflex, she smoothes down the fabric beneath her fingers. She needs a moment to process, to fully gather her thoughts. The woman wants to string together the right words, a response appropriate for this situation. Something that will cause the least amount of damage to their relationship.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “but I do not return your affections.”

The man gives her a small smile, unsurprised by her rejection. “I know,” he says, with a nod of his head. His amber eyes drift to focus their gaze on the dark wood of his large desk. “I simply wanted to express my feelings for you.”

“Claude,” Marianne sighs and takes a cautious step towards the man. “This does not mean that I will never learn to care for you, as more than a dear friend. This marriage was—”

“An event that I never believed I would experience with you,” he interrupts. “I can understand why you agreed to marry me and I will not fault you for your decision. I have known you long enough to be well aware of the difficulties you have experienced. I do not blame you for wanting to escape from your parents, from their endless demands. I am a Baron, and that was more than enough reason for your parents agreed to our marriage. You have become a Baroness, an upgrade to your status in society.”

Marianne frowns. “I did not marry you for you title.”

“It is okay, Marianne. You do not need to justify your actions.” The man stands up from his armchair and approaches the woman. “I do not ask that of you.”

“Tell me why we are having this conversation,” she raises her gaze to meet his own.

Claude hesitates, before reaching a hand towards the woman. His fingertips brush against the loose curls of her copper hair. And just as he is about to press his palm against the skin of her cheek, he pulls his arm away. “You are much more intelligent than our peers would like to believe. And you have a heart, one that should not be chained by the vows that you have made with the Order. When I am gone—”

“Gone?” Marianne interrupts. “Where are you going?”

The man continues, ignoring her inquiries. “I want you to trust your instincts,” he says. His hands lightly grasp onto the sides of her arms. “Question everything, question the Order. I know that you have doubts about their cause, purpose. You know that something is not adding up. That vampirism is spreading at an exponential pace. It is unnatural, as if the spread is being encouraged, manipulated by an outside force.”

Marianne blinks. She studies the man looming above her. “What do you know?”

“That the worst thing that you have ever seen is nothing, compared to the truth.”

“Claude—”

The couple are interrupted by a knock on the door.

Claude retracts his hands and takes a step away from his wife. “You may enter,” he says.

One of their maids, Bethany, enters the room.

“My Lord, my Lady,” she says, “Mr. Crawford Starrick is here. He requests a moment of your time, Lady Braxton, if possible.”

Claude groans and runs his fingers through his short blond hair. “What could that vile man possibly want now?”

Marianne stifles a chuckle, before it has the chance to escape from her lips, and turns to address the young woman. “Please inform Mr. Starrick that I will be with him in just a few moments.”

“Of course, my Lady,” the woman curtsies and exits the room.

“I do not know why you bother entertaining that man,” Claude says.

“Sometimes it is easier to simply do the bare minimum,” she responds. “Smile and laugh, when prompted, and then slip away once the opportunity arises.”

The man crosses his arms and leans against his desk. “And what happens when the bare minimum is no longer enough? Will you still continue to appease that man with your attention?”

“If you were not so keen on angering the future Grand Master, I would not have to appease him as often as I do.”

Claude scoffs. “That is a silly rumor.”

“To ignore that possibility is utter naivety on your part.”

“Starrick will never get that kind of promotion, not with the amount of people that dislike him.”

Marianne turns to exit the room. When her fingers latch onto the doorknob, she pauses to give one last remark. “You forget that leaders do not have to be liked; they just need persuade those who will help them accomplish their goals.”

~ ~ ~

“Mr. Starrick,” Marianne greets. She descends the steps of the grand staircase and then approaches the man. “I was not expecting your company.”

“Forgive the intrusion, Lady Marianne,” the man replies. He gives her a small bow, before gesturing to a somewhat small, flat object propped against the wall. “I come bearing a gift, an early birthday present.”

“I see.” Marianne steps closer the rectangular object. Once her fingers are tightly gripped onto the edges, she lifts it up. It has a surprising amount of weight to it, but it is still far from too heavy for her to carry. The gift is concealed by large pieces of parchment, which Marianne gracefully tears away.

This action exposes an oil painting, a landscape. Her eyes trace the coating of colorful hues, examining the splatters of pinks, blues, and yellows for flower petals. The vivid brushstrokes of colors blend in with the lush greenery of surrounding grasses and leaves. Off-center, on the right side of the painting, is a woman. She is dressed in a large navy blue evening gown, complete with a subtle floral print and lace trimmings on the sleeves. Though the angle of her head conceals her identity, the woman’s shade of red hair bears a striking resemblance to Marianne’s own locks.

“This is quite beautiful,” the woman says. “It reminds me of my parents’ countryside estate, of the springtime blooms that overtake the gardens.”

“I am pleased that the painting is up to your standards,” Starrick responds.

Marianne smiles.

She motions for a nearby maid to approach. “Elizabeth, take this painting to the dining hall. I shall pick a suitable location for it later.”

“Of course, my Lady,” the woman says. She takes the painting away from Marianne and then disappears through a doorway.

Turning back to her guest, the Baroness says, “While I do appreciate the early gift, I cannot help but wonder if your visit today is for a different reason.”

The man nods. “You know me too well, Lady Marianne. There is, in fact, a matter I hoped to discuss with you.”

“Of course,” she says. “What is it?”

“Perhaps we could venture to a more discrete location, away from any curious ears.”

“If you are worried about my husband overhearing this conversation, then you have nothing to fear,” the woman smiles. “He is currently preoccupied with a business engagement,” she lies. “Right here is a perfectly suitable location for our discussion.”

Starrick sighs, but submits to her insistence. “I have previously expressed my concerns with your marriage to Lord Braxton.”

“You most certainly have,” Marianne interrupts.

He brushes aside her words and continues speaking. “I believe this to be an unfit union, especially for a Templar of your status. I encourage you to leave him, as soon as you can.”

“A runaway Baroness would be quite the scandal,” she chuckles. “The other aristocrats would never stop gossiping about such behavior.”

“English aristocracy would be the least of your problems,” Starrick snaps. “When you married Braxton, he was a respectable Templar, but he has turned into a fool. In order to regain the respect of our peers, you must leave him. Your loyalty to our cause must surely be more important than your insignificant obligations as a wife.”

“You may not like my husband, but he is still a Templar. And, despite what you think, he is still loyal to the Order.”

“Braxton will only stop you from reaching your full potential. He will hold you back and bring upon shame to you and your family. If you continue to remain by his side, you will lose the support of the Templars.” He takes a couple of steps towards the woman. “Do you truly wish to ruin your family’s reputation, the Winchester reputation?”

“I hardly believe that you are concerned about the status of my reputation.”

“Braxton is a traitor.” His accusation is firm.

But unsupported.

“Then why is he still alive?” Marianne quirks a brow. “Where is his executioner? Is it you?”

Starrick frowns.

“Or perhaps,” she taunts, “could it be that you are lacking the necessary proof? That your word is not quite enough leverage to sway the minds of our superiors, of those who much prefer the company of Lord Braxton over yourself?”

“You will see what kind of man he is. You will see where his loyalties lie.”

“I wonder if someone will say the same thing about you one day.”

The man glares at her. And from the corner of her eye, Marianne can see his fists clench, an attempt to quench the anger brewing beneath his skin.

“I believe it is time for you to leave,” the Baroness says. “I have several appointments that I must attend to.”

Starrick takes one last step towards her and lowers his voice to a hiss. “You will come to regret your involvement, your commitment, with this man.”

Marianne keeps herself rooted in place, unwilling to break beneath his threats. “Life is full of regrets, Mr. Starrick. I doubt that, in the end, this one will be noteworthy.”

~ ~ ~

Before Marianne is able to enter her husband’s study, she senses that something is out of place. Claude has a tendency to cause a bit of a ruckus while working, always pacing throughout the office or rummaging through his papers.

But she only hears silence, a trait far too uncharacteristic for the disorganized man.

The Baroness reaches between the ruffles of her gown, slipping her fingers around the handle of a small dagger. With a secure grip, she pushes open the door and enters the room.

A body is on the floor, in front of the desk. And Marianne needs only to see the burgundy tie, a gift from her, to know that it is Claude. Blood streams from a large slash carved into his neck, forming a puddle of crimson liquid that creeps its way across the floor. It reaches for the doorway, as though, it too, longs to escape from the death steadily consuming the atmosphere.

Marianne is quick to cross the room, knowing that she needs to give the body a closer inspection. She crouches down to look for any traces of evidence.

Aside from the gash in his throat, she finds no other signs of a struggle. There are no ligature marks. No early signs of bruising. A potential weapon is nowhere sight. And his hands are clean, untainted by any blood.

His wound is not self-inflicted, nor did he react or attempt to resist his fate.

She presses a hand against his skin; he is still warm to the touch.

Her husband has killed and—

The woman’s ears perk up when she hears a floorboard creak behind her.

—the murderer is still in the room.

“Tell me,” she says, “is his killer an Assassin or Templar?” Marianne rises to a standing position and turns to face whomever is in the room with her.

With their hands slightly raised in front of them, a figure steps out of the shadows. It is a man dressed in white robes, adorned with ornate golden trim and stitching. His face is shrouded by a matching white hood, but traces of his almond colored skin bleed through gaps in the fabric.

“An Assassin,” Marianne notes. Her eyes drift the blade held between the fingers of his right hand. A drop of blood drips from the edge of the metal and splashes against the floor. “Are you here to kill me, as well?”

“For now,” he says, “you are not a target.” The man speaks with the slightest hint of an accent, revealing his origins of birth to not be that of Great Britain. India, perhaps?

Marianne tilts her head and takes a step towards him. “If I am safe today, then what of tomorrow? Next week? Should I expecting a visit from the Grim Reaper in the near future?”

“That will depend.”

“On?”

“On strength of your loyalty to the Templars,” he says.

“Interesting,” Marianne replies. She turns her head to glance back at the oozing corpse. “Some Templars believed Claude to be a traitor, but most could not fathom the idea that such a well-respected man would turn against us. Still, there was speculation that he may have been leaking information to your Brotherhood.”

The man remains silent.

“I know it is a bit of a rarity between presumed enemies, but are you willing to keep a secret?” Marianne adjusts her grip on the small dagger, spinning it between her fingers, while awaiting his response.

“A civil conversation between our organizations is already a rarity,” he says. “I don’t see the harm in adding to that list.”

“I would never confess this to my fellow Templars, but the truth is that I believed the rumors.”

The Assassin slightly raises his gaze to examine the woman. “You, a Winchester, refused to betray a man you believed had turned on the Order?“

Marianne shrugs. “One’s given name is hardly a confirmation of character.”

“Why did you keep his secret?”

“He should never have been a member of the Order,” she says. “Beneath his guise as the utterly devoted Templar, he was a kind man. He had a code of morals that he longed to follow, but knew that he could not do so publicly. For quite some time, I have known that he was drifting away. I had my speculations long before the rest of the Order. And I knew that if I did not marry him, if I did not attempt to protect him with my family’s long proven loyalty, he would be made an example of, slaughtered.”

“You loved him.”

“No,” Marianne shakes her head, “not in the way that you are suggesting. He was a friend that I cared for immensely. We grew up together; I knew the pieces of him that he hoped to keep concealed. I do not need to see proof to know that Claude turned against the Order, that he became an informant for the Assassins.” Her fist tightens, clutching the dagger in her hand. “But I wonder, what do you have to gain by killing the one man who was willing to tell you everything.”

“Lord Braxton was well aware of the Order’s suspicions,” he says. “He knew that it was only a matter of time before they sent someone to execute him.”

“He asked you to kill him,” she realizes.

“Death by Assassin was the only way to prevent himself from being captured by the Templars and forced into betraying the Brotherhood.”

“He snipped off his own loose ends,” Marianne muses.

“He spoke of you often,” the man reveals. “He wished that you had been born into a life that was free from the clutches of the Templars. And he believed you to be conflicted between your need to satiate your parents’ expectations and your desperation to cling onto some minuscule inkling of good morality. Your husband didn’t die due to loose ends; he died because it was the only way to protect you from the consequences of his decisions.”

“Why would you tell me all of this?” The woman wonders. “What makes you think I am the type of person Claude believed me to be?”

“Because,” he pauses, “instead of bloodshed, we are having a conversation. I confess that I am not much of a killer.” He glances down at his hand. “This blade was used to help my friend. I do not wish to fight with you, Lady Braxton.”

“If you do not wish to fight, then what happens now?”

“If you desire to escape from London, I can help you. I know excellent forgers who will grant you a new identity. You could have the freedom to live the kind of life you wish to follow. My Lady, you could be free of this lifestyle, free from the influence of Templars.”

“No,” Marianne shakes her head. “No, I will not be going anywhere.”

“I realize this is a big decision to make in the spur of the moment,” the Assassin says. “Should you change your mind in the future, I will gladly provide the promised assistance.”

“You misunderstand,” she says. “Without an informant, your information will soon be outdated. I can replace Claude.”

The man sighs. “If the Order catches you, you will be executed.”

“Sir, I may only know life as a Templar, but I know enough to realize that I do not wish to remain as one. They are a terrifying organization, one that aims to rule the world. And if they accomplish that goal, they will do so with the utmost cruelty. The Order must be prevented from gaining more power than they already have. They have already seized control of London and we must stop their influence before it is too late.

“I have seen the experiments that are conducted on captured vampires. They live their lives in constant torture, torment. They are starved, stabbed, electrocuted. Limbs are chopped off, until there is hardly anything left. They are drained, physically and mentally, and it is beyond inhumane. If you could witness what I have seen, you would know that the Templars are the real monsters. They do not care for stopping the infection; they wish only to harness immortality and use it to guarantee their dictatorship.”

“Lady Braxton,” the man smiles, “I believe an alliance between us would be most beneficial.”

Marianne gives him a warm smile in return. “And what is the name of my new partner?”

“I am Henry Green.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Green, despite the grim circumstances.”

Henry drops his smile and lowers his gaze, a feeling of guilt itching inside of his chest. “My condolences for my contribution to your loss.”

“Claude knew what would happen,” she reassures. “He knew that he would not be able to hide forever. His death is not your fault, regardless of the blade clenched between your fingers.”

The man nods his head and tucks the weapon away.

“Most importantly,” Marianne says, “our current circumstances need to be resolved, in a way that avoids any unwanted growth of suspicion about Claude’s loyalty. I will not be able to buy you much time to escape, but I can provide the servants with a brief distraction.”

The woman brings her blade up towards her face and glides the sharp metal against the skin of her jawline. She uses the knife to slice against the sleeves of her dress, destroying the expensive material. Then the woman presses the blade against the newly exposed skin and etches new cuts into her body. She smears the dripping blood along her arm and against the bodice of the dress.

“I hope to see you soon, Mr. Green.” She says, before gesturing to the window. “Go, before it is too late.”

Henry nods and approaches the window. Before he slips through, he turns to cast one last glance at the new widow. But he says nothing, and instead continues with his escape.

When his figure disappears from her sight, Marianne releases an ear-splitting scream.

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: hello~ thank you for reading this fic! if you enjoyed what you read, please considering giving this piece a like, kudos, and/or comment. i am a small author, so any and all responses boost my confidence and let me know that people are interested in my work.
> 
> considering this is a vampire au and that the assassin’s creed franchise is technically considered a work of science fiction, i’ve accepted the fact that this series will be historically inaccurate. while I won’t do anything crazy like throw in cellphones in the victorian era, I am bound to make mistakes. I am about to start my journey into obtain my MFA in creative writing, which means I will not have the time or energy to properly research each aspect of this time period. this fic is simply a fun side project where I can exercise my writing, while gushing over my favorite chaotic bisexual (lovingly) dumbass assassin.
> 
> Tumblr: Vostara  
> Twitter: VostaraFics


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